


A Better Way to Fall

by catwalksalone



Category: NCIS
Genre: First Time, Frottage, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-05
Updated: 2010-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwalksalone/pseuds/catwalksalone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the world's determined to spit in your coffee, sometimes you just need to hold on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Better Way to Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle IX. Prompts: fear of heights, adrenaline. No spoilers.

"Jesus," whispers Tim, "Oh god, oh god, oh god, Jesus." The sandstone is rough under his fingers but there's nothing to grip, not really, and there's only thin air underneath his toes. He pushes his heels harder into the ledge that he's fairly sure was never supposed to support anything heavier than pigeons. Pigeons on a diet.

Tony's hand flaps against his wrist. "It's gonna be okay, Tim, trust me. Just don't look down."

"I don't need to look down to know this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me," says Tim, stomach swooping and lurching as he stares straight ahead and comes eye to eye with a church steeple. He squeezes his eyes shut and absolutely does not think of falling.

Tony doesn't relax his grip on Tim's wrist and they stand stock still, cold wind blowing right in their faces, drying Tim's lips and chilling his fingers, for what seems like hours, but is probably only seconds.

"Tim, we have to move."

"I can't."

Tony squeezes Tim's arm. "Yes, you can. Because you are Tim McGee and you can do anything. Also? I give it another three minutes max before your fingers go totally numb and that's not gonna end well. Now shift your skinny butt like I told you."

Tim bites back a whimper, but it's as if Tony heard it anyway.

"I won't let you fall, McGee. Got it? Just follow me. Nice and slow."

They shuffle along the ledge, Tim sure he's going to plummet to his death every time his fingers have to loose their grip. Tony keeps up a steady flow of chatter, but what Tim's not too scared to tune in to the wind whips away, so he has no idea what Tony's saying. It's comforting anyway. And if he is going to die (which is a statistically high probability given that they've passed three locked windows, the bad guys are probably still looking for them and he's starting to lose sensation in his hands and feet), then he's glad he got to spend his last moments with Tony. The guy grows on you. Like a fungus. A friendly one.

Just then, Tony vanishes from Tim's line of sight and Tim nearly loses his footing at the shock of it. A hand shoots out of nowhere, grabbing his arm and yanking him around, tumbling him through an open window.

Tim's balance is shot to shit, his numbed hands missing their grip as he tries to grab at the window frame, and he dives forward, knocking Tony on to the floor. He lies there, sprawled across Tony's body, heart beating so wildly he can barely catch his breath.

"Glad I could break your fall," says Tony dryly and shoves at Tim's shoulder.

Tim should move, really he should, but his brain is still frozen with fear and he can't get it to co-operate with his muscles. He pants heavy breaths against Tony's neck and the heat reflecting back at him tells him they made it. They're alive.

"Fuck," he gasps. "I'm not dead."

Tony grabs Tim's head in both his hands and yanks it back, staring straight into his eyes.

"Not gonna let you die, Probie. Didn't I tell you?"

And Tim would nod, only Tony's got his head in a vice-like grip and he can't move and his heart is still beating too fast, too hard and Tony's staring at him, eyes like lasers, burning into Tim's brain. Suddenly it's not frozen any more. Nothing is. And it's all heat and rush, bitterness flooding his mouth and blood fizzing inside him and Tim stares down at Tony and _wants_.

He wants, and it's not like he's never wanted before, but he's significantly more alive than he was expecting to be, and this time he's going to take. He wrenches out of Tony's grasp and kisses him. Kisses him hard and insistent and like the only answer he's expecting is 'yes'. There's no hesitation, Tony's freed hands settle on Tim's shoulder blades, pulling him in closer and Tony kisses back. Kisses deep and dirty, biting down on Tim's lower lip, stroking his tongue along the roof of Tim's mouth. Tim can't help but grind his hips against Tony's, and that's definitely a satisfied noise Tony makes right there.

The part of Tim's brain he can't ever switch off, the part that's always cataloging and analyzing latches straight on to that sound, worrying at it, even as Tim's fingers, coming back to life, slide up Tony's cheek, framing his jaw. Tim pulls away from the kiss, bending his head to press his lips against the taut tendon of Tony's neck. He pushes Tony's head back, tightening the sinew still further and bites into it. Tony lets him. Tony gasps and shifts under Tim's weight, pushing his groin against Tim's, letting him in on the results of his actions. Tony says, "Fuck, yes," and, "We should have been-" and, "_Tim_."

This isn't a fight for dominance. This isn't Tony once again proving why he is the best at all things sexual no matter who's involved. It's a partnership, like the one they've built so carefully over all these years. Tim tells his brain to shut the hell up.

Hands still bracketing Tony's head, Tim licks his way up Tony's neck, along his jaw line and back to his mouth and when their lips slide over each other again, sending spikes of electricity through Tim, short-circuiting his ability for coherent thought, he's pretty sure he's found what he wants to do for the rest of his life.

Tony opens his legs and Tim's knees crash into the hard floor. He barely notices the sharp twinge as Tony bends his legs, his hands on Tim's ass and thighs pressed against Tim's hips encouraging him closer, encouraging him to move. Tim feels the hard length of Tony through the layers of cotton and his hips snap forward almost of their own accord, the stuttering bump of his dick against Tony's sending his heart rate soaring again. Tony's hands spasm and his hips twitch and it's all Tim needs. He thrusts again.

They rub against each other, picking up the pace, and there's a frantic buzz deep at the base of Tim's spine that's pushing him to go quicker, harder. And it's crazy and it's dumb and any moment now the door's gonna crash open and it'll be the guys they were chasing or, even worse, Gibbs, but the only way Tim's going to stop is if Tony wants him to. And it sure doesn't look like Tony does.

He's close, he's so close. He can feel it, the buzz spreading out across his whole body, even his teeth tingling with it. Tony's pink-cheeked and sweat-sheened and the green of his eyes is nearly gone. Tim leans down to lick a bead of sweat off Tony's forehead, and then Tony is pushing at him and urging him to move, move now.

For a second, Tim is confused and hurt, but then he sees Tony scrabbling at his belt and pushing up his shirt and, wow, _Tony_ being the practical one. Who knew? He gets his own pants open and pushes them and his boxers to his thighs just in time to see Tony's dick leap a little as Tony comes in three steady pulses, come mingling messily with the hairs on his belly. Tony lets out a low groan and takes his dick in hand, gentling himself through the aftershocks and Tim doesn't even need to touch himself before he's done for, barely getting his hand in place before he's shaking on his knees, coming so hard his vision briefly blurs out.

"Here," says Tony, pulling a crumpled Kleenex out of his windbreaker, "you might want this. Also? If you don't let me blow you in the next twenty-four hours I'm telling Abby you broke the Caf-Pow machine. On purpose."

Tim licks his lower lip and tries to act cooler than he feels. "I could probably fit you into my schedule," he says, heart-fluttering as if he's saying yes, I will come to Prom with you. Somewhere inside him is a gangly sixteen-year-old giggling nervously.

"I can think of better places to fit me," says Tony, and Tim rolls his eyes. Inside Tony is a twelve-year-old looking up dirty words in the dictionary. The sun rises and sets, and DiNozzo turns everything into innuendo. It's good to have constants in life.

They tidy up. Tim stands and almost falls over again. He's shaking all over and his legs can barely hold him. For the first time he notices the room they're in is totally bare--there's nothing soft here to break his fall.

"Hey, hey, don't panic," says Tony, grabbing his arm. "It's just the adrenaline. It'll pass. Breathe."

Tim breathes and, sure enough, the trembling subsides.

"Okay," says Tony, letting go. "We should probably get out of here. Ready?"

"No," mutters Tim, but he takes up the cover position on the other side of the doorframe to Tony.

Tony tries the handle. Nothing. He rattles it harder. Nothing.

"I think we're locked in," says Tony.

"Ya think, DiNozzo?" replies Tim, and earns himself a narrow-eyed glare.

Tony gestures over to the open window. "We could always go back out the way we came in."

"Not a hope in hell," says Tim, shuddering.

"We could call the cavalry!" Tony pulls out his cell and starts to dial. He stops and looks over at Tim, giving him the filthiest grin Tim's ever witnessed. "It may take a while," he says. "How about that gap in your schedule?"


End file.
